tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84506140944012177692024-03-05T17:44:24.780-05:00Random FeetLilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397720052682992593noreply@blogger.comBlogger93125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450614094401217769.post-2953542783390189122018-09-29T12:15:00.001-04:002018-09-29T12:15:20.760-04:007 years later and still not over my nicknames<span style="font-family: inherit;">You must be thinking... She's alive?! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">What is going on? Why is there a new post on Random Feet?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Has it really been SEVEN YEARS? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Yes. Yes it has. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">To my 631 followers that I abandoned back in 2011, please forgive me. I estimate that at around the time that I began having a social life, I stopped blogging. Good news is... college is over, I still love to write, and I'm moving to France to work on a sheep farm.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Since I left you, I've gotten lost in the desert, been saved by a kind Indian family who found me at 3 am having just missed my bus, and peed on a Prius in Brooklyn-- among other things. Point is-- I still have stories! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Random feet is being *upgraded* to my *new* blog, "<a href="http://lilchapstick.com/">chapstick</a>" (you know, that<span style="background-color: white;"> funny name everyone comes up with all on their own to call me and my family members?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">On the new blog, you can expect the same content as Random Feet, but it'll be just a bit more ... sophisticated? </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It will be divided into three categories: </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;">1. Anecdotal<span style="font-family: inherit;"> stories: (</span></span><span style="background-color: white;">funny things that happen to me and other people).</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">2. Goals: (a </span><span style="background-color: white;">thorough completion of each and every lofty “goal” I have ever had in my life. An attempt at conquering the things I have always wanted to do).</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">3. Character studies: (a collection of interesting people and things that I take note of in daily life and share with you).</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">Get excited!! And please, visit the new blog and click "follow" / sign up to get email notifications for new posts.</span><a href="http://lilchapstick.com/" style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"> lilchapstick.com</a> Expect a new blog post every Saturday. Including, TODAY! <a href="https://lilchapstick.com/2018/09/29/a-night-at-the-lama/">Click here</a> for today's post (describing one comical night I experienced being a hostess).<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Thank you so much for following me during my adolescence. Welcome to my life as an adult (??!!!)</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18185764462091027140noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450614094401217769.post-39912880308214315222013-12-13T22:49:00.004-05:002013-12-13T22:50:53.396-05:00The Almond MilkI am one of those unfortunate people with a nut allergy. That means every time someone offers me a cookie I have to ask, "does this have nuts in it?" The number of times the cookie has had nuts in it will break even the strongest of hearts.<br />
<br />
Once I was at a restaurant celebrating my birthday and the waiter, to my surprise, brought me a free birthday dessert. Again with the false happiness. I was practically drooling it looked so good. But, I had to ask if it had nuts in it and long story short, my mom ended up eating that desert.<br />
<br />
I have come to accept the reality that I simply cannot be a "dessert person" because all the fancy-schmancy desserts have nuts in them. I also cannot take part in blind taste tests or eating games, I cannot be spontaneous and decide to close my eyes and point at anything on a menu, and I will never <i>ever</i> be able to enjoy Nutella. Which basically means, according to almost everyone I have ever talked to, I will never have "lived."<br />
<br />
This is a part of my identity and something I simply have to quit whining about and accept.<br />
<br />
Or, at least, that is what I thought.<br />
<br />
I was sitting at home one day eating cereal, chomping away, contemplating life, looking dramatically out my window, you know, the usual, when I realized something was off. I was looking at the cereal box and observed a word I had, for a number of years, seemed to casually ignore. The box said, "Honey <u>Nut</u> Cheerios."<i> </i><u>Nuts</u> were in the <i>name</i> of the cereal I was eating.<br />
<br />
What.<br />
<br />
Why I had been eating "Honey <u>Nut</u> Cheerios" all my life and had never once asked myself how that made any sense at all, I'll never know, but it finally hit me. I was eating a nut and was not dying. I was no longer allergic to something.<br />
<br />
So, I looked at the back of the cereal box to find out which nut it was. Almonds. This was very exciting for me because one of my friends used to say, "Lily, it's truly too bad you can't eat almonds. Because, if you could, you would love them." With that in mind, and with my Epipen not too far away, I walked into my kitchen and tried to find some almonds to eat to test my new eating ability.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, I couldn't find any almonds. However, I did find some almond milk.<br />
<br />
I automatically poured myself a glass of the lumpy, thick, gooey almond drink, and drank some. What happened next I am not too proud of, I spit it out on to the floor. I cannot explain to you how repulsed I was. It just, it tasted like garbage. But, being stubborn, I tried again, and forced myself to adjust to the taste.<br />
<br />
I walked away from the kitchen both cringing and smiling, and resumed whatever it was I was doing before.<br />
<br />
But, to my surprise, a few minutes later, I heard a scream.<br />
<br />
I ran to the kitchen to find my sister jumping up and down similar to how I would image a monkey might if it accidentally sat on its banana or stubbed its toe. She was rinsing her mouth with water and calling for my mom to bring her mouth wash. I asked her what was wrong. She told me the almond milk was expired.<br />
<br />
Because I had never had almond milk before, I did not know what it tasted like when it was not expired, and forced a full cup of expired almond milk down my esophagus. Feel free to feel sorry for me as I puke.Lilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397720052682992593noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450614094401217769.post-8799543269295758902013-10-09T00:07:00.002-04:002013-11-19T22:55:38.734-05:00Nick Offerman. Sorry- I mean, Bacon. <span id="docs-internal-guid-34930e43-9b62-37ed-a3ac-dec54ec6d714"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span id="docs-internal-guid-34930e43-9b62-37ed-a3ac-dec54ec6d714"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If you watch Parks and Recreation you know there is a character named Ron Swanson who likes to eat bacon and has a mustache. Enough said. His ridiculous ability to consume pig meat inspires my friends and I to no longer refer to him by a human name but simply by Bacon. (By the way, the fact that I am still able to worship someone that I call Bacon, despite my vegetarianism, says something.)</span></span></span></div>
<span id="docs-internal-guid-34930e43-9b62-37ed-a3ac-dec54ec6d714"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span id="docs-internal-guid-34930e43-9b62-37ed-a3ac-dec54ec6d714"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Once in school a girl introduced herself and I picked up on the fact that her last name was Swanson. Forgetting that I was living in real life, I started hyperventilating. Then I realized Ron Swanson was not his real name (happens all the time) and this Swanson was not related to Nick Offerman.</span></span></span></div>
<span id="docs-internal-guid-34930e43-9b62-37ed-a3ac-dec54ec6d714"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></span></span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span id="docs-internal-guid-34930e43-9b62-37ed-a3ac-dec54ec6d714"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Many mornings ago I was sitting in my dads room on his magnificent computer writing an essay. It was 6:00 AM and I had just started the first page. Distracted by the sunrise, I turned my head to look out the window.</span></span></span></div>
<span id="docs-internal-guid-34930e43-9b62-37ed-a3ac-dec54ec6d714"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On a balcony directly across from my window stood a man with a mustache and I swear he was eating bacon.</span></div>
<br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This was over a year ago. Since then I have come to several revelations about Nick Offerman.</span></div>
<br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">One, he is buds with my grandparents.</span></div>
<br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My grandpa is a successful playwright, and basically knows everyone. No big deal. Once I was casually talking about my obsession with Nick Offerman while at a Steakhouse (where he is very relevant) when my grandparents told me they knew him. They casually would have dinner with him and his wife, Megan Mullally, years ago when they lived in New York.</span></div>
<br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I, obviously, practically fainted when I heard that. I remember reaching into my pocket for my phone to show them that his face was my screen saver.</span></div>
<br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And second, I </span><span style="font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">almost</span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> met him.</span></div>
<br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A few days ago my grandma texted me, "Nick Offerman at Barnes & Noble Weds 7pm Union Square." Apparently he wrote a book about canoeing and was having a book signing.</span></div>
<br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">WHAT.</span></div>
<br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was all I talked about that day. But though I told practically everyone I knew and begged them to come with me, everyone had "too much work." Honestly, I didn't even care. I went by myself.</span></div>
<br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Stupidly, I decided to arrive on-time instead of hours early. Obviously, I have been deprived of sleep recently, because in order to see someone like Nick Offerman you need to wait on line for a long time. So, when I entered the bookstore, crazy-eyed with a huge grin, trying to find the space where he was, I was stopped by a security guard.</span></div>
<br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Fourth floor is closed ma'am.” She said.</span></div>
<br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Can you repeat that please?” </span></div>
<br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Fourth floor is full.” </span></div>
<br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Is that where Nick Offerman is?”</span></div>
<br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Yes.”</span></div>
<br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“So, I can not </span><span style="font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">see</span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Nick Offerman.”</span></div>
<br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Correct.”</span></div>
<br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“So, I will not be seeing him.”</span></div>
<br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“That is correct.”</span></div>
<br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“So, he will not be seen by me today.”</span></div>
<br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“If you would like to wait in line you can get a book signed by him, the line starts on the first floor.”</span></div>
<br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was so disappointed. So disappointed that I began negotiating with the officer. I was wearing at the time a necklace my friend Nina gave me. The necklace had a miniature harmonica on it that usually has people in awe. (Though that might be due to the fact that I will periodically make music with it and then pretend as though I did not, causing people to look around suspiciously trying to understand where the music is coming from.)</span></div>
<br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I jokingly told her that if she let me up to the fourth floor, I would give her this famous harmonica necklace. </span></div>
<br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She looked me dead in the eye and repeated, “If you would like to wait in line you can get a book signed by him, the line starts on the first floor.”</span></div>
<br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“How long do you think I will have to wait?”</span></div>
<br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Two or so hours.”</span></div>
<br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But as much as I wanted to, I had to be at least somewhat responsible. High school seniors have a lot of work to do. So, I left. And did not meet him.</span></div>
<br /><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I swear to god Barnes and Noble, you will regret not letting me see Nick Offerman. </span></div>
</span></span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I may use bacon as a bookmark or something.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
Lilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397720052682992593noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450614094401217769.post-63524774035651490332013-08-16T18:50:00.000-04:002013-11-19T22:58:17.650-05:00BangsWho would have thought? One moment a confident young girl with hair below her shoulders, the next a hillbilly with a mullet. <br />
Yes, sadly, the mullet girl is me. Though due (thank god) to the invention of bobby pins no one really knows. And I guess technically I do not have a mullet, but I might as well. I have a sorry case of terrible-bangs.<br />
I should have known the moment the hairdresser started snipping, the magazines on her wall with her face on it were all handmade and her hair looked like a goat thought it was a couch. But something happens when you sit in the chair of a hairdresser. All of a sudden you forget how to have opinions and doubts or rather, a voice to voice them. She washed my hair, she grabbed (yes, grabbed) her scissors and destroyed any chances for me to have bangs like Zooey Deschannel. The first thing my mom said was, "Oh! Lily, you look like a toddler!" To that I just had to close my eyes for a moment and think, "not again." And sure enough when I willed myself to open my eyes, I was looking into a photo album from back in the day.<br />
Bangs. I'm here to convince you they are the ultimate poison of my generation. The pictures of celebrities with successful bangs, laying softly on the top of their eyebrows, seemingly benign. Society is trying to tell us to get bangs. And sometimes people fall in that trap.<br />
Months ago, when I went up to my friends and asked them if I should get bangs, I had already made up my mind. After the symphonies of "No,""Please, no," or "Lily you are going to regret this," I smiled at them and said, "I know right! I should definitely get bangs. Thanks for the advice," as though I was a tape recorder without a brain, a zombie student treating research as busy work. So I guess this is a warning for everyone out there like me. Change is good but bangs- Bangs are simply destructive.Lilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397720052682992593noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450614094401217769.post-48790495854214302972013-07-11T19:04:00.000-04:002013-11-19T22:56:37.409-05:00The Barbie Phone<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD5ozyM-OsicrbhV0Vzfs5COeJ6PaoVjDpsPRCQr0Ws6jyxFEfoXXHpFB-hZU4hlCDfIxncKRuY6j3r1ANa4JTPI3nyi7wt7g2-7MltGbdfV8RTjVXue_dpWF4COTvWmxu2tzcJAEmPXw/s640/blogger-image--2008917634.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD5ozyM-OsicrbhV0Vzfs5COeJ6PaoVjDpsPRCQr0Ws6jyxFEfoXXHpFB-hZU4hlCDfIxncKRuY6j3r1ANa4JTPI3nyi7wt7g2-7MltGbdfV8RTjVXue_dpWF4COTvWmxu2tzcJAEmPXw/s320/blogger-image--2008917634.jpg" width="238" /></a>I'm not actually too fond of the color pink. My sister was always the pinky piglet, and I, the blue bugger. But when I lost my last phone and saw the pink phone on the screen I was immediately attached to it. I imagined how funny it would be to pull out a phone, a completely covered in pink fake blackberry, and act like it was perfectly normal. To me the phone was a barbie phone, that <i>worked</i>. It would be like owning a barbie computer that <i>worked. </i>Or a barbie home telephone that <i>worked</i>.<br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Whether I wanted to amaze babies when they put the "barbie phone" to their ears and hear a real person's voice on the other side, or I just wanted to have something to laugh at multiple times during the day, I can't say... But I bought it.Lilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397720052682992593noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450614094401217769.post-36078800292782591522013-01-03T01:09:00.001-05:002013-11-19T23:00:38.761-05:00Mouse On SlopeVermont and mice, is there a distinction? Well, yes. But for some reason, unknown to me, my experiences with Vermont tend to be summed up through one word: mice. Last year I found a dead mouse in my ski boot, which scared the crap out of me and arguably inspired my fear of going on black diamond runs, (though, thinking back there really is no connection what so ever). <br />
<br />
And then there was this year. <br />
<br />
I was skiing this time, with a boot on both my feet, when I suddenly stopped. I could have sworn I saw something descending down the mountain alongside my friend. It was a small oval-shaped object, but didn't seem to be rolling down the mountain as an inanimate object might... <br />
<br />
As I slowed down, I discovered what it was.<br />
<br />
A mouse running to safety (really slowly but surely....)<br />
<br />
I'm just happy this one was cute and alive.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://randomfeet.blogspot.com/2012/04/mouse-in-boot.html">Click Here for Other Mouse Story</a>Lilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397720052682992593noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450614094401217769.post-12399867071009538292012-11-13T00:02:00.000-05:002013-11-19T23:04:14.515-05:00Cats Compensate ChangeNo, I'm not dripping with diamonds and pearls. And no, I'm not begging on the streets. Though, I might as well have been that day in early August. I was dripping in change. <br />
<br />
I was planning to go to the Strand Bookstore, to buy Middlesex and a comic book for Cassidy. I was also going to go meet my friend, who likes cats. I lost track of time and realized I was running a litter late. (Pun intended). I threw on my shoes, grabbed my phone, a jacket, and looked inside my wallet.<br />
<br />
Empty.<br />
<br />
I had been gone for a month and a half and forgot that I brought all my money with me, only to be spent on a cheap ring, and a lot of chocolate milk. Oh, and an Arizona Iced tea in Arizona. I know, I know, actually the coolest thing. Anyway, there I was, running late, home alone, poor as a chicken. <br />
<br />
So of course I called my mom. But neither my mom nor dad had any money around the house for me to use on books. I, at that point most likely on the floor crying to myself, all of a sudden was hit with an idea.<br />
<br />
The bucket.<br />
Or buckets,<br />
of random change throughout the house.<br />
<br />
I went scavenging throughout the apartment and eventually found seven dollar bills, an assortment of quarters, dimes, and nickels.<br />
<br />
So there I was, running through the streets, sounding and looking quite homeless, with a mesmerized smirk on my face. <br />
<br />
I took the subway <br />
I found the Strand<br />
I entered the Strand<br />
I found the books<br />
I got in line<br />
I got to the cashier <br />
I realized how painfully hilarious my next move had to be<br />
<br />
"I'm really sorry but I'm going to have to pay for these books with change..."<br />
<br />
She gave me a blank stare that reminded me of my cousin who is somewhat notorious for that.<br />
<br />
"I counted it though. It amounts to $32.76."<br />
<br />
Another blank stare. She counted the seven dollars and picked up a quarter.<br />
<br />
That's when I started making comments like<br />
<br />
"I'm so sorry about this, really I am"<br />
<br />
"Oh wow sorry"<br />
<br />
"Heh"<br />
<br />
The long line seemed to be growling at me<br />
<br />
She kept counting and I kept fidgeting with my wallet. Then I started to fidget with my notebook. Aha, yes a solution, I could give her a cute little postcard!<br />
<br />
In my notebook I kept a stack of memorabilia from my trip. So, I started shuffling through it. There was one with an old man on it adorned with bright colors and a toothy grin. Above him read the words WE WANT YOU! FOR SHROOMFEST! <br />
<br />
Aha, no.<br />
<br />
The next was a picture of a cat. It was a delicate illustration on yellowing paper with pencil. I observed the scene. Here I was, watching as the cashier counted my change, holding a picture of a cat and contemplating whether or not I should give it to her.<br />
<br />
I waited.<br />
I was five cents short. I added a few more awkward "ehh, ah, oh, yea, that's all the money I have..."<br />
<br />
She let it slide. Didn't say anything though. Gave me another blank stare.<br />
<br />
I don't know what it was, or why I didn't do it, but I left the store with the picture of the cat in my hands. <br />
<br />
I ended up giving it to my friend.Lilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397720052682992593noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450614094401217769.post-77126553582488779362012-04-22T22:06:00.000-04:002013-11-19T23:09:01.049-05:00Mouse In BootI wish I could tell you the story I am about to tell you is not as bad as the title suggests. But I really can't. I really, really, just sadly absolutely cannot. It is horrible. It is true. It will give you nightmares, it will make you forget what it is to want to eat food. It will very easily convince you that staying in a little clean bathroom, without windows is a good idea, because it is horrible.<br />
<br />
Now that was, of course, a bit of an exaggeration, simply because I live in a city and I am not used to mice. So yes, to me it is horrible, this story I am about to tell you, but of course you may think, "Ha! The wimp!" And well, it's okay I'm expecting it.<br />
<br />
It was a windy day. Actually, no I have no recollection of the weather because this was what? Three months ago? Okay, so I have no idea what the weather was... But you know, sometimes it is just nice to add in those little details so as to create a setting and then oh I don't know, intensify the suspense.<br />
<br />
OOOO the wind howled in my ears. The sky was dark, the sun had set, the stars were no where to be seen.<br />
<br />
Okay, I'll stop.<br />
<br />
I was in a garage. I know that isn't as scary as being in the middle of a dark forest, the moon lost amist the sky, but it's the truth so I gotta stick to it.<br />
<br />
A garage. And on a trailer-like thingamagigy. I was trying on skiing boots because I was going to go - take a guess. Good. Now, I didn't have my own skiis with me because I was in Vermont and I usually go skiing in Massachussets, so I was trying on someone else's skis that I was going to borrow. I placed my foot inside the boot. I tried to force my foot in but there seemed to be something at the bottom.<br />
<br />
No biggy.<br />
Probably just a piece of paper, or a rock, or something...<br />
<br />
I reached down into the boot.<br />
I pulled something up.<br />
<br />
It was really grey, and rough, and looked like one of those things you clean dishes with that are metalic and hairy looking? (Does anyone have any idea what I'm talking about?) Steel Wool.<br />
<br />
The moment was quick. I looked at my friends uncle with a look of pure disgust. What the heck is this? By the look of his face I should not have asked. But I did anyway. Of course I did.<br />
<br />
I threw it to the ground.<br />
<br />
"What was that?" I asked.<br />
<br />
He said, "You don't want to know..."<br />
<br />
"Was that a mouse?"<br />
<br />
I didn't need to see him nod to know that it was a mouse.<br />
Are you screaming yet?<br />
Let me reiterate... I PULLED OUT OF MY BOOT A MOUSE. A MOUSE. A DEAD MOUSE. I DEAD MOUSE SO DEAD THAT I THOUGHT IT WAS SOMETHING YOU USE TO CLEAN DISHES. Before I threw it to the ground... I saw it's face. I SAW IT'S FACE.<br />
<br />
Well, that's all I have to share for today. I'd appreciate you trying to top my mouse experience...<br />
<br />Lilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397720052682992593noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450614094401217769.post-19342991230105338502012-04-15T14:45:00.000-04:002012-04-15T14:45:02.621-04:00Invisible Neighbor Takes New ActionPlease pardon if my writing seems to be proper I am in the middle of reading Pride and Prejudice and must confess I am being transformed into an aristocrat.<br />
<br />
Oh what a pity it is to find alas my life of war to be over! The time has come for me to cease the endless undeclared war between me and my neighbor! For my neighbor has, quite unfortunately, made a peace offering. To what of which that is I shall explain, if only you will listen. And do not forget the past acts of war that were taken against me in the past, observe <a href="http://www.blogger.com/"><span id="goog_496329252"></span>here<span id="goog_496329253"></span></a> and <a href="http://randomfeet.blogspot.com/2011/05/neighbor-strikes-again.html">here</a>.<br />
<br />
I was walking, jolly, with prudent intentions, to dispose of my garbage as fast as possible when a sudden realization disturbed my countenance. The toilet was in my house and I earnestly required it. I dropped the garbage can and sprinted to my residence, passing dear sister on the way in.<br />
<br />
"Cassidy, dearest I must occupy the washroom!"<br />
<br />
"Right away, dear!" She responded with intent concern.<br />
<br />
When I was ready I headed back out the door, walking with the intention of finishing the job I started. But as I looked ahead of me to the spot of which I let rest my can of garbage, I found only an empty space. I stopped.<br />
<br />
Alas! I was frightened! Did someone steal my dear garbage can?<i> </i><br />
<br />
I hurried to open the garbage room door with fear of it being too late. The door handle was quite dirty I must say, this is courage I display.<br />
<br />
Inside the garbage room sat a perfectly luxurious garbage can completely intact. It was mine and I was saved!<br />
<br />
But here comes the part of which there is fear. Fear only because it is so strange. So very strange, however benevolent, I was frightened.<br />
<br />
As I looked inside the garbage can I observed ever single peace of garbage to be missing. And as I looked inside of the recycling bins it was there my garbage lay. I stood there with my eyes wide for minutes.<br />
<br />
<i>What ever could this mean? </i><br />
<br />
My neighbor disposed of my garbage during my swift absence. That was all it could mean. And after what feels like years of war between this invisible neighbor, I realized it was all over. However fun the experience was, it is and will always be over. And for that I will be ever grateful. This was a noble deed of my neighbor, of whose identity I still do not know, but I thank him or her dearly in my heart.<br />
<br />
The war is over, my friends.<br />
The struggle has passed.<br />
There may be peace.<br />
Glory be to the name of I<br />
and to Neighbor.<br />
<br />
Till we meet again.Lilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397720052682992593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450614094401217769.post-8647644387386598832012-03-06T00:13:00.000-05:002013-02-23T22:26:24.015-05:00Scuba Diving Dilemma<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0UTXZhsTBHC_QN_ywllTL5qiAVi27eTL9Q6L0QXYF3kTXFohH8FVGw4F0PJcZ9wounVFpVlMPenTDtc9BTbksSIoXgm9e646ZN8APNqSocx2y3JEncEn4NgaQMRLc4cdB2d8YWWVEBdU/s1600/Picture+1.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0UTXZhsTBHC_QN_ywllTL5qiAVi27eTL9Q6L0QXYF3kTXFohH8FVGw4F0PJcZ9wounVFpVlMPenTDtc9BTbksSIoXgm9e646ZN8APNqSocx2y3JEncEn4NgaQMRLc4cdB2d8YWWVEBdU/s1600/Picture+1.png" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">No... That's not me.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I wish. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">But <i>pace</i> our beliefs you cannot just grab a snorkeling kit jump in the water and make buddies with a whale. Chances are you will run out of air and want a scuba tank, chances are you will also have no clue how in the world you are going to <i>use </i>the scuba tank.<br />
<br />
I've had the urge to learn how to scuba dive for a while now (meaning pretty much my entire life), and I finally signed up for a scuba diving open water certification. I thought about it for weeks, although the actual decision to do the class was spontaneous. I was walking down the street and finally forced myself to go inside and sign up even though I was by myself. See the reality of the situation was... I mentioned the class to many of my friends but none of them were genuinely interested. They would just kind of nod their head and say.. oooh... cool. yea.. well I'm scared of um... water. Or, I don't like the ocean. Or scuba diving is one of those things I just don't ever want to do ever. Or, YES ! I really want to! But then never follow through when I keep bugging them about it. So after a while I just kind of gave up and decided to just do it by myself. It's okay you don't have to cry.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">But when I got to the class after paying the friggin fee and buying the equiptment I found out the reality of the class... The class consists of four meetings (I knew that), but what I didn't know was that at the end of the four classes you are not handed a certificate and sent off into the world. Oh no. You get a little permission thingy that allows you to take four open water dives in the real world. And only AFTER the four dives do you get the open water certificate. Now this seems fine until you hear the next part. This little "permission thingy" expires after one year. The certificate doesn't expire but in order to get the certificate for the rest of my life I have to do four open water dives in the next year or this class doesn't even matter. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;">That's the problem. (Why is this a problem you ask?) I don't have any scuba diving plans for the next year to get in these certified four dives!</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
Now, at this point I was basically peeing in my pants. I was like- WAIIT A SECC... I THOUGHT I WAS JUST LEARNING TO SCUBA DIVE!!! While these thoughts were racing through my mind everyone at the class was going around in a circle saying "Hi, My name is Martin. I am going to Hawaii in two weeks that is why I am here." "Hello, My name is Nicole, I am going to Burmuda in three weeks.... that is why I am here." When it came up to me I was like, "Um oh hello yes I am lily I am uh... uh... GOING TO A SCUBADIVING CAMP THAT REQUIRES THIS CERITIFCATION?" except I most definitely am not going to a 6000 dollar scuba diving camp.<br />
<br />
So then the instructor started talking and talking and I went back to my darn rapid water fall of thoughts in my wee brain thinking, "HOLEY POOP WHAT THE HECK AM I GOING TO DO?" I was thinking... Well... Maybe I can just jump in the hudson river by myself four times and call it a day. But then I snapped myself out of it and carried on with my ideas.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">1) I actually find a reasonably priced scuba diving camp.<br />
2) I convince a close friend of mine who might have a scuba diving relative to do the class with me and take me with her and her family on four dives. hahaha good luck lily...</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">3) convince my family to get certified and we all go somewhere and go diving.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">4) do this class... and spend the next year looking for scuba diving opportunities like a mad man until I finally complete four somehow... Maybe I can even go in Pennsylvania or something... </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">5) Try to convince my instructor to let me postpone my class until I actually have a place to scuba dive.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And well, that's the current dilemma. Any advice? </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Thanks fellers!</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Sorry I haven't written in forever! CHOWWWWDER! </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 14px;"><br />
</span></span>Lilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397720052682992593noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450614094401217769.post-86015912667086297782012-02-01T17:42:00.002-05:002012-02-17T09:41:16.456-05:00Stuck in Nantucket Rain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Once upon a beautiful afternoon in Nantucket I decided to take a walk along the bluff with my sketch book. I was walking and quite slowly at that, when I felt a little pitter patter on my head, nose, and forehead. Raindrops fell slowly with the wind and didn't frighten me too extremely. Then it starting to pour. And I was stuck- quite literally under a bush. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The only thing holding me back from enjoying the weather was the fact that I had a very important sketch book with me, yet after what felt like hours, I decided it could take it. I ran home soaked and documented the adventure on a moist sketchbook page here: </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEm1rtllNwyIpMshA8r43t68OGzN3td6FzsGh_StsfgsMSzNUBQWGoqMP83KNroFqr2z9aq2IuDys2QrY3Jr-Y72CQF3fquTz8BVai6Xqu0uSN7iy40QrrQUVZysq69xYvFBsBfbmYGiw/s1600/337783_2809658875178_1069910562_32840688_533743434_o+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEm1rtllNwyIpMshA8r43t68OGzN3td6FzsGh_StsfgsMSzNUBQWGoqMP83KNroFqr2z9aq2IuDys2QrY3Jr-Y72CQF3fquTz8BVai6Xqu0uSN7iy40QrrQUVZysq69xYvFBsBfbmYGiw/s640/337783_2809658875178_1069910562_32840688_533743434_o+%25281%2529.jpg" width="486" /></a></div>
As you can see the pen was dying. Poor fella.Lilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397720052682992593noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450614094401217769.post-31304409931442133842012-01-19T20:46:00.002-05:002012-01-20T11:47:06.743-05:00Teenager chooses typewriter over iPad<i>MEET THE TYPEWRITERS:</i><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSedV_LGZHjXWXE_0mzKWgZMaCwtvLVUvpAvG0vBOjGz5Ccd7G2x9iedwynJEB3uj-EHGBmM47iRsw11dibwQARiWAyLxwtnXw0l1QH939-0tXljIWe69mmcSbhBVbI0X3xs43yxqmsQM/s1600/DSC_0042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSedV_LGZHjXWXE_0mzKWgZMaCwtvLVUvpAvG0vBOjGz5Ccd7G2x9iedwynJEB3uj-EHGBmM47iRsw11dibwQARiWAyLxwtnXw0l1QH939-0tXljIWe69mmcSbhBVbI0X3xs43yxqmsQM/s400/DSC_0042.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
<i>I've had Night Moon ( right) for 4 years.</i><br />
<i>I've had Tom Thumb (middle) for a while, only I didn't know it. He was hiding in the hallway closet.</i><br />
<i>I've had Blue Jay (left) for around three or four months.</i><br />
<br />
The day has come, that iPads roam the earth. Okay no, not quite yet. Scientists are still in their labs attaching legs to computers and giving them brains to see if they can think on their own. Soon enough this experiment will deem successful and there is no turning back, computers <i>will </i> take us over. But until then, we have iPads. And after iPads we have iPad2s!<br />
<br />
See, I can't deny loving iPads. They are so fun. They are so fun! You can put your finger on the screen and move it around and then wooosh, it moves things around, and I can play solitaire on it, and I can read my email on it, and I can like... do my homework on it. Or read articles on it, or read BOOKS on it. I love the iPad I do, but I love the past more.<br />
<br />
Huh? What do you mean Master Lily? The past? Like... <i>past? </i>The past as in white wigs? To which I answer, "Kind of... kind of..." See, it is not as though I see wearing wigs as a treasure at all. I personally do not feel like wigs are all the comfortable, and white isn't my color, but see, at the same time, I think what is interesting is the way things were done in the past.<i> </i>The present is all about what is convenient, but if convenient means zooming away in an ugly aerodynamic car, then I'd rather ride a beautiful 1930's car. Although that of course has a much worse gas mileage... So never mind, I'd just rather not drive a car. But I'd rather <i>look</i> at an <a href="http://randomfeet.blogspot.com/2010/07/antique-cars.html">antique car</a>, and I'd rather live in a society with beautiful cars (and only some people own them) than a world where practically everyone owns a car, that may have better gas mileage then the cars from 60 years ago, but because everyone has it, the outcome is even worse for the environment. We don't need cars gosh darn it! Ride your friggin bicycle!<br />
<br />
If convenient means typing on a computer and pressing print, I'd rather have fun on a typewriter. Of course, someone who actually lived when typewriters were around might as well call me mad, because I am merely interested in something I am not used to. If I had grown up with typewriters I'd probably be typing a letter to my friend complaining, "Can you imagine our parents used to write letters on paper with a quill? That seems so much better... "<br />
<br />
I guess what I'm trying to say is I am falling into the "I wish I didn't live in this time" trap. Just like in the movie Midnight in Paris. Everyone wants the past because it is more interesting. I feel like in the past people thought more and people were more interesting, but chances are there were people thinking the same thing in the past. We are merely hard to please... But YES... I'd rather not get sucked into the technologies of today, but rather explore and try to understand how people used to get by. I want to write more, read more, exercise more, sing more, act more, play music more, have fun more, and I think typewriters are fun! And iPads, although they are beautiful and convenient and lovely to most people, are to me an obstacle and distraction from other things. If I had already lived a life of typewriters things may be different, but for the time being I am interested in typewriters more than iPads that may or may not develop legs.Lilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397720052682992593noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450614094401217769.post-5903059070061408182012-01-08T21:16:00.001-05:002012-01-19T21:37:56.783-05:00Don't forget the alarm clock<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">See, I am guilty of being very much a sloppy dope. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So sorry to disregard the faith you have in my challenges, but you should have taken the hint when I didn't write a bunch... The thing is... I've been waking up at 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 7, 6, 10, 11, 10, 7, 8, 5, 6, 7, 7, 6, 5. Inconsistently, and NOT like a 5am challenge. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Heh-</span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">sorry. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But of course, I am full of excuses... See, it all started with the break... I went skiing with my friend Megan, and well I had to live life as a bum who wakes up at 10. (no offense meg.) No matter how many times I tried to wake her up early it didn't work! In fact, I got myself a beating. It's called the silent treatment and glares. See, I thought it would be a good idea to get up at 6 instead of 6:30 to go skiing. (Just getting slightly closer to that 5 am mark.) So I set the alarm to 6am. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Only thing was it was </span><i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">her</i><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> alarm. And although I told her I set it, I hadn't quite mentioned I set it 30 minutes early. And well, it turns out she never even heard that I had set the alarm, so no one bothered to take the phone upstairs. --BIG MISTAKE-- </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm a deep sleeper so come 6am the entire household was awoken except for me. And Megan went down "in the dark" to turn off the obnoxious, rapidly increasing in volume shock of a noise. NEVER steal sleep from megamoo. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Never.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Never again, I told myself. See, it was a trap! Those beautiful few days in Vermont. I got to ski, but I didn't get to wake up at 5. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Yet tata! No fear! I am back in the ZOOOOONEEEEE! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Tomorrow it starts again. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I am meeting my bud Lola to play ukelele a few hours before school starts at 6:30am.:) </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It'll be fun cause we don't play the ukelele... </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Until we meet again when I get the energy to write down my winter break adventures.... </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Tata!</span><br />
<br />Lilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397720052682992593noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450614094401217769.post-23141267359959764392011-12-24T21:40:00.003-05:002012-01-19T23:31:35.177-05:00Day Eleven<span style="font-family: inherit;">Yes! I have been getting up early early early for 11 days. It has become a part of me!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It has become something I really, really love and I feel so strange when I don't get up early.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Like- today.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">After a really stressful two days (thursday: french presentation, math test, science test. friday: inclass essay) I thought I would give myself a break and wake up when I felt like it. I got up at 9... And I felt- HORRIBLE.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">HORRIBLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Never again will I be so strange! NINEEEEEEEEE FELT HORRID!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Yet, I am going to have to be more practical. For example: I am going skiing with my friend for four days. There's no way I'll be able to convince her to wake up at 5am... Maybe 8... Maybe 7. . . Not 5... But, if I wake at 5am, I'll be tired by NINE at night. That might just force her head to fly off. So, I think I'll wake up at 6am when I am skiing? Is that okay? Six is still early! and when I get back home I'll go back to 5 I promise!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">For example... TOMORROW. Is Christmas.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Remember that Lily? Christmas. Remember last year, you woke up at around nine? Your head hurt. Your hair was a MESS. Your braces hurt. You looked in the mirror and you looked like a swollen plum? You felt so late because your mom was already awake? And was saying WWWWWWAAAKE UP LILYYYY!!!!!!!!!!! .....</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">DO YOU REMEMBER THAT LILY?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">WELL!!!!!!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">GUESSSSSS WHATTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">NEVER.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">GOING.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">TO.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">HappEN.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">AGAIN!!!!!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">WEEHEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!</span>Lilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397720052682992593noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450614094401217769.post-82360854045227326012011-12-17T10:27:00.001-05:002012-01-19T21:38:22.563-05:00Day FourThe last two nights I have woken up before my alarm. WOOHOO! except, well... today... I mean, last night I went to bed at 11 cause I ate dinner really late. And well, this morning I felt awful.<br />
<br />
I got up at 5:10...<br />
<br />
I got up...<br />
<br />
I walked around like a zombie child...<br />
<br />
I tried to turn ont he light but I tripped on my shoes...<br />
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I then broke my NOSE!<br />
hhhhhhhhhha , no.<br />
<br />
um, yes so then I tried to get up while yawning uncontrollably.<br />
andd well I fell asleep.<br />
<br />
From 6 until 7.<br />
<br />
oooopsies!<br />
<br />
But it's okay because I needed the sleep and I'll get up at 5 tomorrow<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />Lilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397720052682992593noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450614094401217769.post-40899315687352443492011-12-15T22:19:00.001-05:002012-01-19T23:31:53.903-05:00(The REAL Day Two)<span style="font-family: inherit;">Time in bed: 10:00pm</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Time woke up: 5:10am</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Time now: 8:52pm</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That's right people-- I did it, again. Woohyywhoohaa! Yet, I can't say it was smooth. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">For one, I woke up at 5:10. Not that it matters, just saying... Two, my mom was awaken because I decided to use my cow clock today. See, this cow clock again is REALLY ALARMING. No way of sleeping past that baby. It also happens to be really hard to turn off in the dark. At 5:10 it went, MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">and I got up ina matter of milliseconds, then I fumbled with it for a while while it accumulated in noise going, MOO mOOOOO mOOOOO MOOO MOOO MOO MOO MOO!!!!! MOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! That would be when my mom on the other side of the house woke up. I then shut it off.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I guess this calls for a little convinience light next to my head so I can trun off the cow in the early morning. wink wink daddy;) no, maybe, yes? Yes, no, maybe so? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I'll take that as a maybe. :) </span><br />
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</span>Lilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397720052682992593noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450614094401217769.post-31537413163157960792011-12-14T05:07:00.001-05:002012-01-19T21:38:48.789-05:00Day Two- I did it.<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Why hello there!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">5 minutes ago I woke up.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I feel amazing!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">It's 5:05 am!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I am going to go brush my teeth, have some breakfast and finish some homework.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">THEN I will use my time doing things I enjoy!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS I WOKE UP!!!!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I will let you know how I'm feeling later after the fatigue sets in!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">:]Let's see if I don't fall asleep accidentally... </span>Lilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397720052682992593noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450614094401217769.post-63998614340594195572011-12-13T23:06:00.002-05:002012-01-19T21:39:05.001-05:00DAY ONE- 5am 30 Day Challenge<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Time up: 8:10 am </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Time in bed- WAIT WHAT?!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">WHAT?!!!!!!!! </span></div>
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</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Yes, yes randomfeet believers. I am a failure. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">A, FAILURE.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">An absolute failure. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Please explain yourself gurrl...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Yes, yes alright, well you see... I set my alarm last night for 5:00am. I put the volume on an extremely obnoxiously loud volume and stuck it about a foot away from my ear. I closed my eyes and fell asleep. I slept. and slept. And slept, and well I slept a lot and SLEPT THROUGH MY ALARM. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I was so deep in sleep that not only did I not hear the alarm, but when my mother was woken up with a start and came to the living room to shut it off </span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">(By the way I slept on the couch to make sure my bed wasn't to comfortable to leave in the m</span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">orning.) she began to shake me and I supposedly got up and said, ohkayyy mommmm stooooppp..</span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I ABSOLUTELY did NOT do that. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I was sleep talking. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">So while my mom turned off the alarm and attempted to sleep again but had difficulty, I ignorantly kept on sleeping until 6:30 when I heard my dad's big slippers clanking in the living room. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Wonder how his slippers woke me when my alarm didn't... </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">At 6:30 I realized it wasn't 5 o'clock and got very angry at my phone that lay near my head. I wondered what the heck happened and why it didn't ring. And then somewhere in my rapid thoughts I fell asleep again. And then woke up twenty minutes later than I usually do for school.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">To make a story short, I really failed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Even on the way to school running late I flipped off my skooter, sending my back pack flying over my head and off my back, and ripping my pants ripped on the sidewalk. I had to run up to the third floor in this condition but I did it magically in about a minute and got there exactly on time. </span></div>
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</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">That part of me was less failure-like.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The rest remains the epitome of well, -- me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Big dreams, big words, big ideas, and then well you see... I CAN'T CONTROL WHETHER I CAN WAKE UP OR NOT! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">So-- hard.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">So, day one was an utter failure but I won't let it get to my heart. I have two options for tomorrow. And I have new unfortunate factors. One, my mom doesn't want to be woken up again. And two, I evidently need a new alarm clock system other than my cell phone.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">So here are the options.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">1) Put my phone on vibrate and put it in my hand or right next to my ear. That will probably make me feel tingly and wake me up.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">or </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">2) Crank out the mooing alarm clock. See, this alarm clock is so ALARMING that I will wake up without a doubt and if it is close enough to my face I can turn it off before my mom wakes up.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">So, what do you say?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">What should I do fellers? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Let me know. </span></div>
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</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The challenge continues. It only has gotten slightly more challenging because I can't even get the first thing down. Actually GETTING UP.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">DUNDUN...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">be ready. </span></div>
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</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Tomorrow will work.</span></div>Lilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397720052682992593noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450614094401217769.post-51249282823181561002011-12-12T20:39:00.000-05:002012-01-19T21:39:23.222-05:00THE 30 DAY CHALLANGE<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Once upon a time there was a girl named Lily who forgot about time. Her forgetful nature started after falling on her face one lazy afternoon. The impact impaired her memory and sense of time and just like that, two months fell out of the sky without a thought! And when we don't think we don't blog. So, that's my excuse.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">It has been two months since I've posted. That's coooky. But who cares? I have a surprise! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">A SURPRISEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Tomorrow is the first day of THE 30 DAY CHALLANGE.</span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The 30 day challenge?!</span><br />
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</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">For 30 days I will wake at 5am in an attempt to be more productive in my life's daily routine. No longer will I permit days of fatigue and lasyness. OH NO! I will now commence a journey into a life of one who rises early and get's the perfect amount of sleep based on what the body is telling me I need.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">--Now hold up-- Y'all gotta be wondering how that makes any sense. Basically I am saying, "I WILL WAKE UP AT 5AM for 30 days and magically feel well rested because I wake up early and don't sleep!"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">But I have been inspired by <a href="http://www.stevepavlina.com/blog/2005/05/how-to-become-an-early-riser/">Steve Pavlina</a> 's blog about self improvement. His idea encircles the theory that the body knows when it should sleep if everyday we wake at the same time. So, let's say I wake up at 8 am every morning, I can know that I am sleeping a good amount because when 10 pm comes around I feel tired and I go to bed. But the next day I may not feel tired until 12 am, yet that is okay. The idea is that the body knows when it should sleep. Read his post about it it's great!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">So yes. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Now the question lies as to why 5 am?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">The answer lies as to, I like to wake up early. I don't wake up early, but when I do I feel really, really good. I feel ahead of the game and I feel like I have a lot of time. If I woke up at 6am every morning, I wouldn't feel much different simply because it is only one hour earlier than usual for school, but 5 am I think is the perfect challenge and that is the number the guy Steve did in his experiment. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Want to join me?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Everyday I will write about how weird I feel waking up so early, and you can post your feelings too. Try it! Think about it, if you woke up early you may have the opportunity to do things you often don't have time to do like... Eat breakfast (me), wash your hair (me), read (me), write (me), create (me), paint (me), draw (me), speak a different language (me). I never have time because after school I have homework and I am exhausted. But if I start the day earlier I will have that morning rush of energy to do the things I love and care about.....</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">SO, The day commences tomorrow at 5am.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Everyday I will write the time I woke up exactly. (Should be around 5:00 - 5:10) And the time I went to bed. ALSO anything productive I did in the morning</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">I can do it. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">But the question lies... CAN YOU JOIN RANDOM FEET IN THIS ADVENTURE? </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">If so, send a picture of yourself with a cut out mustache on your face to lilzkoool@gmail.com and join the 30 day challenge team. Together we can wake up early, dun dun duuuuuuuuuunnnnnnnnnn.</span>Lilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397720052682992593noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450614094401217769.post-91758882377823009732011-11-30T23:41:00.001-05:002012-01-19T21:39:44.936-05:00Harry Potter.I um, well... I finished the harry potter series and therefore my life is over.<br />
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I was in Pennsylvania, reading you know. When I realized I was on the last 100 pages of the book. I started hyperventilating because with Harry Potter 100 pages in like 10 pages in a normal book. I knew the end was coming. So I read, and read (this was at night). And I decided to go to bed and save the end of the book to the morning...<br />
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WARNING DO YOU READ THIS IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THE BOOKS. I AM NOT KIDDING. IN FACT, I am so utterly scared that you will read this anyways and the series will be ruined for you that I'm not going to say it. But I will in code.<br />
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Okay, people who read the books, you know the thing that he harry boy finds out about his connection to he who must not be named, he gets it through a pensive, with ummm severus... yes? well, remember the thing about um going to cloud land with um people that are in the same state as the harry parents? well i stopped reading there, and then I had a dream that I WAS HARRY. And when I woke up, my golly I was confused.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgQ13ak7smT0x3RhRnWNilNoisZuBDmM95Pah_ySWH2CW6KsXQRY_KO3tjo6G1woXRh0X7LUZnmPbIj9j-kBdfX_wawCocn2aldBfsrwojTjfZ6pDJzyR34FsQiI8V8GSYzVmVwEh3rO8/s1600/IMG_6180.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgQ13ak7smT0x3RhRnWNilNoisZuBDmM95Pah_ySWH2CW6KsXQRY_KO3tjo6G1woXRh0X7LUZnmPbIj9j-kBdfX_wawCocn2aldBfsrwojTjfZ6pDJzyR34FsQiI8V8GSYzVmVwEh3rO8/s200/IMG_6180.JPG" width="200" /></a>Then that morning I finished it. And after going into shock of finishing the series, I realized I was in fact beyond happy with it, it was beautiful, JK Rowling twisted my mind in ways I thought impossible. I was FLABBERGASTED. I was in shock but I was so happy and well I shifted into a giggly state of galloping across the river.<br />
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*** Also, in case you are wondering why a 15 year old only finished the Harry Potter series this year... I was a deprived child.<br />
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<br />Lilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397720052682992593noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450614094401217769.post-28919998965591505272011-10-27T01:14:00.002-04:002012-01-19T21:36:36.001-05:00CH!no..Imego!Or..gu?GMtr?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3DenYAWxp4Yw8jqIfJZuYvAEgGNV3mPUvAzaF6sMb-KXKhbDIzdpd_3hoxmrcjX9fyDmB0ZJ9tGsXXoPDpvC2h57D_VVwtB2mkrK6oCsawHFyvs818_8g_p4jy-ywfCSHTm7NDrOoRTA/s1600/DSC_0031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3DenYAWxp4Yw8jqIfJZuYvAEgGNV3mPUvAzaF6sMb-KXKhbDIzdpd_3hoxmrcjX9fyDmB0ZJ9tGsXXoPDpvC2h57D_VVwtB2mkrK6oCsawHFyvs818_8g_p4jy-ywfCSHTm7NDrOoRTA/s640/DSC_0031.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>Lilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397720052682992593noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450614094401217769.post-24235549962342306762011-10-15T20:49:00.000-04:002012-01-19T21:44:43.549-05:00The Egg<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So there I was, sitting on the couch, you know staring at the wall. Don't we all do that? I guess not. Well that's what we people do with no televisions. Stare at walls. Anyways, I was feeling very groggy, so I got up really fast and started walking around the house. Of course then, well, I fainted hahaha. No no! LIES! I tell you lies! I did not faint. But has it ever happened to you when you get up really suddenly and then kind of feel like collapsing would be the best thing to do at the moment? Ha, well yet again I feel as though few people will agree with me that it is normal, just as few people will agree with my friend that earth worms or cute, or that stealing a fork from a restaurant marks a person as extremely rebellious. No, that just makes me giggle. Yet, I fear I may never again be able to look at an earth worm the same again. Anyways-- I was lying on the ground thinking that the ceiling was very strange when I felt a lump under me, I got up and looked down and saw utter stick lip gloss. I put it on, and pop!<br />
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POP!<br />
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Lily the obese monkey sumo wrestler was born! I jumped up and started running around and had new energy like never before! So everyone, if you ever feel groggy or tired, light headed or sick, grab an utter stick lip balm and get kicking. Then of course cook up an egg and eat it too. Hard boiled. Yum, yes alright is that what I hear? My egg is ready? "Ohhhh eeeggggg?? Are you there??" "Yep, ready and yummy!" "Coming darling!!"<br />
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And this marks the end of my thoughts on Saturday night 8:46 PM<br />
Tata for now children!Lilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397720052682992593noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450614094401217769.post-49888162527072812162011-10-14T21:47:00.001-04:002012-01-20T11:53:45.785-05:00Ukulele in the subwayWhat better way to feel free than to break into song on a subway? No. Don't get too excited, I didn't pull out my ukulele and break into song on the subway. I'm not that amazing. But rest assured that I know someone who did. My very good friend whose name I will not display incase she is frightened someone may stalk her to see her ukulele skills. Yes, we were on the subway and I told her to play her ukulele and without second thought she did. And she sang. And it was hilarious.<br />
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I love the idea of being able to break into song on the subway and adding a smile to a stranger's face. The idea of not being shy or embarrassed and just doing it. Whatever you feel like. Why not show the world that you are awesome?<br />
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One of these day I will break into song. :) Just gotta work on my guitar. Or borrow my g-mas ukulele. Or just grab my harmonica.Lilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397720052682992593noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450614094401217769.post-27178185072204716342011-09-26T20:00:00.000-04:002012-01-19T21:45:06.570-05:00My child, my life, and my ideal meal.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4tD6TCqqSEO0A9Z6EVYhVLVUJp-7kQztaBp9G4nJES2DRPz8E9nTwW1Da3Z-NAaequYOW5QVhv7vk_m3kN0RU7WKKUZ3s8jUfTwPV7u5NWS7Gk6ONl_-KwaPXnQttC9NWjuPm5LSxgrw/s1600/DSC_0044.JPG"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4tD6TCqqSEO0A9Z6EVYhVLVUJp-7kQztaBp9G4nJES2DRPz8E9nTwW1Da3Z-NAaequYOW5QVhv7vk_m3kN0RU7WKKUZ3s8jUfTwPV7u5NWS7Gk6ONl_-KwaPXnQttC9NWjuPm5LSxgrw/s640/DSC_0044.JPG" /></a>Hello. Welcome to paradise. This is my screen saver by the way. I meant to put it in a little heart shaped locket and carry it around my neck all day, but the ink ran out in my printer so... you know... that didn't happen. But, just to make it clear. Cheese. Is. My. Life. <br />
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Cheese has always been my life. I'm betting on a string cheese that my first word was cheese. Although I'll just as readily loose that bet because I'm pretty sure my first world was actually bootuh! attempting to say bouteille which is french for bottle. Okay, so maybe my first love was soy milk in a bottle (other wise known as Genetically Modified Organism Soy milk in a bottle) ... Oh how my mind is corrupted... But still. Cheese is my friend okay? <br />
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Have you ever been in language class, and the teacher asks you "What did you do yesterday?" Now of course, if they had asked me this in English it would have been weird.. But since it was Spanish class it made sense. See, the only problem was that the only thing I really knew how to say in Spanish was, "Yo come a mi casa queso." <- Even though I'm sure that's not grammatically correct, I said it. And although I'm sure people thought I was just being odd, it is very true sometimes. "I eat at my house, cheese." When I am dismissed from school I sometimes rush home on my miniature scooter, zooming along the blocks, to arrive at my house and find Jarlsberg in my fridge. But see, that's the thing, there isn't always Jarlsberg in fridge. Because if you know Jarlsberg (like in terms of friendship) you'd know, as I do, that he's expensive. Oh, he's very expensive, and only when he's on sale do we buy him, and eat him.... EATTTTTTTTTTTTT HIMMMMMMMMMM<br />
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I'm sure you are thinking that I randomly searched the web for photos of Jarlsberg for this post and decided to use this one, but have you ever been more wrong? No, I saw this.... With my own eyes. See that hand holding it? Yep. That's mine. I know. You're impressed. And you should be. You really should be. Because it is impressive. It's very impressive. I saw this sitting on the cheese counter, and I took out my camera, held it high and took a picture, for the world to see.<br />
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<br /></div>Lilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397720052682992593noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8450614094401217769.post-25698726120173251812011-09-25T16:19:00.000-04:002012-01-19T21:45:57.949-05:00GMOs and Vegetable JuicesDo not eat anything. That is my advice. If you have seen Food Inc, you may very well agree. Everyone is evil. Live in a shack, with some geese, a chicken, and a hatchet. But whatever you do, do <i>not</i> go to the super market, and live in modern day, because the evil people will get you! In case you haven't seen Food Inc, I highly recommend it, for many reasons:<br />
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1. I want more people to realize how hard it is to look at a nice chicken wing and feel guilty eating it and 2. You really deserve to know.<br />
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Now of course you wonder... Deserve to know what? To which I reply... I think it's time for you to see the movie...... Then you will know! If you don't watch it you will never ever ever know what I am talking about and won't that just drive you mad?<br />
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If you have seen Food Inc, welcome to the club, I hope you feel the same way I do.<br />
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I hope you own a juicer. I hope you buy organic veggies. I hope you go to Shake Shack instead of McDonalds, and Trader Joe's instead of WalMart. I hope you eat at home and over all, I hope you realize that the world is full of people that want to poison you! Oh, but I don't wish to scare you. Oh not at all, just I have some advice. Simple. Simple advise. Easy if you think about it. I would advise you to pack up your bags, buy a goat for company, and set off to the woods, where you <i>know</i> your food hasn't been put through many chemicals to make it last, and where you know "natural" means natural. But then again, that's much easier said than done. Because I told myself that would make the most sense when I saw Food Inc in April. And woopdedoo, still in a city. Still in an apartment, still BLOGGING. I mean, COME ON! People who own goats don't BLOG. They own goats. They feed their goats. They eat GOAT cheese.<br />
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Alright, back to History homework...Lilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11397720052682992593noreply@blogger.com6